Lucius Malfoy and the Rise of the Phoenix
by Merry Medea
Summary: A mysterious young woman appears out of Lucius's tragic past. Can he be saved?
1. Chapter 1

It was a rather cool night, for late spring; cold even. Jonquils and other spring flowers nodded in the moonlight, yet there was a low mist over the Forbidden Forest, and a bit of frost twinkled on the road that wound down to Hogsmeade. Hedwig kept her feathers fluffed against the cold. From a high piney perch near the Shrieking Shack, she could see the town and the road that wound down to it, the forest, castle and even the lake beyond. She also could see the returning Thestrals, circling above the forest, looking for a place to alight. The town below her was a picture of serene repose.

She had flown out over the valley earlier that evening, after the children left Hogwarts for London. She liked to hunt, though she was a tame owl, and now, full of mice, she rested deep in meditation. A frosty mist rose from Hedwig's beak with

every breath she exhaled. It rose twisting and shining about her head, then drifted away up into the starry sky.

It was a good night, the owl mused. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would be emptying for the summer season in no time. Then it would be back to the confinement of Number 4, Privet Drive. Little winging in Surrey, Hedwig thought, and enjoyed a little owly chuckle at her pun. She was very fond of Her Boy, loved him even, but spending most of the summer locked in a cage would test the patience of a... well, an owl. She hoped Harry would have allot of correspondence this year. Maybe then the Dursleys wouldn't notice her. So thinking she drifted off to sleep.

Hedwig was deep asleep, dreaming of fat mice dancing under a summer moon, when suddenly the peace of the night was ruptured. There was a tremendous blast, like the blast of a cannon, and a 1937 Rolls Wraith apparated on the road, just in front of Hedwig's tree. Alarmed, she nearly fell, and had to flutter, and grab with her beak, to save herself. When she did regain her balance, and a moment later her dignity, she glared down at the thoughtless intruders, a white ball of feathered indignation.

Below her she saw two women had gotten out of the car. Or rather, one had emerged of her own volition, then stomped around the car, and dragged another woman out by her hair. Something was clearly not right here. Hedwig crouched low on her branch, hiding herself amidst the boughs to avoid detection.

The first woman, the angry one, was tall and slender. She had ash-blonde hair that was perfectly coiffed, and her clothes, gray satin silk beneath a flowing, black velvet traveling cloak, were stylishly elegant. She wore huge glimmering pearls around a neck that was at both swan-like, and yet repellently stalk-like. She might have been beautiful, in a cool and elegant sort of way, except for the nasty, sneering look on her face; a look that had the appearance of being, to greater and lesser degrees, a permanent feature. When she dug her perfectly manicured nails into the soft upper arm of the other woman, so that blood oozed up beneath them, Hedwig nestled deeper into her cover.

The other woman seemed at first glance almost a girl, perhaps just entering her teens. But after a moment Hedwig realized that was because she was so thin (far too thin really, as certain muggle women were apt to be), and perhaps as well, it was the simple, pleasant expression on her face. More correctly she guessed the girl was in her early twenties. Her appearance otherwise was shocking. Her skin was pale to an unhealthy extreme, as if she hadn't seen the light of day in years. Her dark-red hair was very long, and untidy. She was wearing a thin nightgown, which was at least two sizes too big for her, so that it sagged from her thin chest most unbecomingly. She was barefoot; and, most shocking of all, her shoulders were scored with bleeding wounds, as though she had been beaten.

In spite of all this, the younger woman was extremely beautiful.

The blonde woman jerked the girl around, almost pulling her off her feet, and began stuffing one of her arms into the sleeve of a large, black cloak, with the initials 'LM' monogrammed on the lapel.

"Put it on idiot," she snarled, jerking the girl around the other way so as to stuff her other arm into the other sleeve.

The cloak was really much too large. The sleeves hung down to her knees, and the hem puddled a good ten inches on the ground around her.

"I know you, don't I," the girl asked, her tone pleasant, if a bit strained, as though she were trying hard to be polite to a rude stranger.

The other woman gave a nasty, ironic snort, and then jerked the cowled hood up around the girl's face, so that she was now quite hidden in folds of dark drapery. Then the blonde drew a somewhat battered wand from the folds of her own cape and shoved it into the girl's hand.

"Hold it up, and out like this," she said, holding her own arm out as if to curse. The girl obeyed, a sweet smile on her lips. "There," said the blonde, standing back to admire her handiwork. "A perfect, little death eater you are. With any luck some nervous-nelly will blast first, and ask questions later. But either way I'm glad to finally be rid of you!"

"What was your name again?"

"Shut up, just... SHUT UP! How I despise you!"

The girl's eyes widened for a second then she smiled again, seemingly unaffected by the other woman's spite.

"I know this mess is your fault," the blonde fumed, "I don't know how you did it, but you've finally ruined me." She grimaced in over-dramatic and unconvincing grief. "Lucius caught... caught red-handed, in the Ministry of Magic no less. After all my hard work, the expenses," (more correctly her husband's expenses), "and all my sacrifices... It just isn't fair!"

After a moment the blonde dropped her pretense of grief, and, hard faced again, grabbed a handful of the front of the girl's cloak, dragging her forward, off of her feet, so that the girl stumbled, with a small cry of pain, and fell against her tormentor.

"I may have to go, but I am sure Voldemort will reward me quite handsomely when I tell him what you have hidden away. I may have failed to find where you hid it, but he won't. Yes, I shall be quite comfortable, and far away from all this mess. I think the tropics sound nice, don't you?"

"Yes, indeed, the tropics sound lovely."

"Shut up," She sneered, then paused for a moment, puzzling. It felt as though there were something she was missing, or forgetting...? After a moment, unable to grasp what it could be, she gave the girl a shove towards the town below.

"Go on! Drat you, GO! You have an appointment with destiny. And glad I am to see the last of you."

The girl began to limp along the road towards Hogsmeade. In a moment there was the sound of a car door slamming. The girl paused to gaze back over her shoulder uncertainly. Just then another loud report shivered the night, and when she looked back the other woman, and the Rolls Wraith, had vanished.

"Wait," the girl murmured, but she was not fool enough to waste breath pleading for the other to return. She didn't really want her to come back after all, even though she did feel quite alone, and lost.

She sat herself down on a mossy rock beside the road to think things over. She was very near Hedwig's pine now, so that Hedwig could hear her talking to herself. The owl noticed the girl was using much larger words and phrases than before, and in fact seemed to be debating something rather intelligently with herself. After a few minutes, seeming to have come to some decision, the girl stood up, and set off again on the road to town.

Alarmed, Hedwig glided down hooting. Going to Hogsmeade dressed like that was sure to bring disaster, and she already felt a liking for the poor girl, who was obviously not quite right after all. Trying to force the girl back, she flew around her head beating her wings, and clicking her beak threateningly. The girl threw her arms over her head, laughing, then stumbled and sat down hard in the road.

"What are you doing, you crazy owl," she laughed, flapping her hands in Hedwig's general direction. Hedwig lit, but continued her flapping and clicking.

"Oh. You saw all that did you? Not very pretty was it?"

Hedwig calmed a bit, but remained on the ready, should the girl try anything foolish again.

"Aren't you a pretty one. I haven't seen an owl in years."

Hedwig hooted consolingly, for certainly that was a shame.

"I'll bet you think I shouldn't go to Hogsmeade dressed up like this, am I right?"

Hedwig hooted a most definite owlish, 'quite right you are!'

The girl laughed. There was an edge of grimness to her laugh though now. "But you see I have to. I have to get to Azkaban right away. I have to get arrested. And now I have the perfect means. I didn't even have to commit a crime. Wasn't that helpful of the old dear? All I have to do is go down there, let them blast at me, and hope that no one kills me."

Hedwig hooted her most shocked hoot, as if to say: 'you are crazy!'

The girl laughed again, with more humor than before. "No, I've not gone around the twist yet. At least I don't think I have. Well, why don't I tell you my story. Then you can decide, and tell me what you think."

"It all began at Hogwarts..."

Hedwig did not want to appear too interested, but soon she was quite caught up. She leaned forward, eyes wide, and at one point hopped right into the girl's lap, hooting in commiseration. When she was done Hedwig heaved a heavy sigh, and blinked her eyes for all the world as if she might cry.

"So, that's my story, and my plan," the girl finished, rising to her feet. "You know, I could use the help of an owl. If you aren't too busy...? What do you say girl? Are you in, as they say in the American movies?"

Hedwig hooted her assent without more that a moment of hesitation.

"As long as your master can spare you. Well, why don't you see me off, and I'll look for you tomorrow evening at Azkaban?"

With a last doubtful hoot Hedwig took flight, swooping and gliding in front as the girl picked her way with care along the stony road into Hogsmeade.

The residents of town were used to the noisy comings and goings of the magical community. So, although one couple had been disturbed by the noise of the aparating and disaparating Rolls, soon enough they had turned over, and were once again fast asleep. Thus it was that no one noted the lone 'figure of dread' approaching town from the direction of the Shrieking Shack. Nor did anyone see as she darted from shadow to shadow, to at last stand directly outside the lighted windows of The Three Broomsticks.

Hedwig lit on the roof of Zonko's to watch, wondering if there was anything she could do to stop what was about to happen. Now that it came right down to it, the whole plan seemed rather desperate; in fact all too likely to end in disaster.

It was late, but apparently not too late for the crowd at the pub. The place was packed. Strange rumors and reports were being passed along, for something remarkable had transpired at the Ministry of Magic that very night. It was all very tangled and confusing. Some said one thing, and some said another, but one thing all agreed upon: Voldemort, was back. And once more it all had something to do with Harry Potter. Neither the boy wizard nor Dumbledore were cracked after all, as many had secretly hoped. There had been a battle, and someone had died fighting the death eaters. Yes, the dark times had come again.

They were a frightened, almost hysterical gathering. Thus it was that when a dark hooded figure was seen, waving its wand threateningly, right outside the window of The Three Broomsticks, the pub fairly exploded. Curses and jinxes flew so thick that it seemed as if a rocket factory had ignited. Bottles fell, and exploded, some billowing clouds of green, purple or pink magical smoke. The windows blew out, and people poured into the street where the hapless death eater lay, quite collapsed.

Things might have gotten very nasty then.

One voice rose above the din of the crowd. "Avada," it began, but the curse was never finished, for a white owl swooped down out of the dark sky, and plucked the wand from the curser's hand, leaving the hand empty, and its owner most bemused.

Madam Muerta was a witch to be reckoned with, and she was having none of that foolishness. Her pub was about to be the scene of a murder! Her pub was on the verge of burning down! She rose up between the death eater and the mob, seeming to tower on her four inch spiked heels, and the hapless wizard whose wand had been snatched was the first of many to fall afoul of her wand that night. Soon enough her singed patrons calmed themselves enough to back away. Still the witch stayed, protecting the fallen sorcerer from the mob until the authorities arrived.

It did not take the ministry officials long to arrive from London. They were surprised, disappointed, and somewhat bemused however, they had been hoping to have located the escaped Bellatrix Le Strange. Instead they collected an unknown young woman, still smoking from the many jinxes and hexes that had been heaped upon her. And at least one ministry official was disturbed.

Hedwig left the scene as the ministry began taking statements, feeling that she had done her best, and feeling as well that she was needed back at Hogwarts.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, when the many curses the mob at The Three Broomsticks had heaped upon her began to wear off, the girl became aware of voices speaking somewhere near at hand.

She lay still, eyes closed, listening to the discussion.

"That one that came in last, from Hogsmeade," said a tall, black auror, "she seems awfully young to be a death eater. Do you suppose You-Know-Who is recruiting new followers already?"

"I doubt he is recruiting. He wanted to keep his return quiet, right? Probably her parents got her into it."

"Damn! That's so sick. You see everything around here, huh?."

Arthur Weasley nodded in grim agreement. "Have we got an ID on her yet?"

"No. They're still working on it upstairs. You know, she kind of reminds me of someone."

"To tell the truth, I was startled to see her when we picked her up. She's a dead ringer for my sister, Cassiopea, but Cassy died seventeen years ago today."

"I'm sorry to hear that Arthur. I never knew you had a sister, but maybe I saw her once, because that girl really does look familiar. Was it You-Know-Who?"

Arthur nodded grimly, and shuffled his paper.

"What do you suppose is keeping her ID? She's the only one left."

"Hard telling. Perhaps she is from over seas. Our ministry and the American ministry are more cooperative since Fudge became minister, but the Yanks still keep allot to themselves."

"Do you think they'll take an interest in our troubles with You-Know-Who this time around?"

"Oh, they're interested alright, now that the truth is out. But I doubt Fudge welcomes their interest. The American Minister of Magic was furious at the bungling way the whole thing's been handled this past year. Some nasty threats he made, let me tell you. I wouldn't be surprised if they hauled Fudge before the International Counsel of Wizards, and demanded his resignation."

"Might not be such a bad idea. Still, those Yanks are right pushy, interfering even. I wouldn't say no to about a hundred of their top aurors backing us up though, so long as they took orders, rather than dishing them out."

Kingsley Shacklebolt, sipped his tea and shuffled his paper a little, watching the other man read. He'd never heard anyone mention Arthur's sister, or her death before.

"So, what are we going to do with this bunch?" He flicked a thumb at the pile of unconscious Death Eaters on the stone floor of the makeshift holding cell.

"Straight to Azkaban. Soon as they come around they'll be processed and shipped out."

"With out even interrogating them first?"

"Nope. Interrogations tomorrow, and hearings when the ministry has got the time. We're all going to be stretched pretty thin for a while here, double shifts, overtime, pep potions. Other concerns are more pressing than the discomfort of a few Death Eaters just now. Plus Fudge is right ticked that 'golden boy' here," he nodded toward the still unconscious Lucius Malfoy, "pulled the wool over his eyes the way he did. A right prat he feels, and frankly is. Of all the stupidities, listening to Malfoy above Dumbledore has got to be the worst."

"Do you really think Azkaban is secure enough without the dementors?"

"More secure, frankly. It isn't likely Voldemort will be able to talk our aurors into turning, traitor, like he did with the dementors. But I'd like to see him try."

"That would make things easier, and messier too, I imagine."

"And another thing, I can't help but wonder if some of those Death Eaters from the last time might have mended their ways if they had been treated half decent, maybe bored into a little self examination? But now the ones that aren't as mad as march hares, are as mad as hornets, because of the misery they suffered all those years under the dementors."

"My mother always said, kindness cures."

"I think she was a wise woman."

The two men sipped their tea in silence for a bit. Through slitted lids the girl could see they were pouring over the morning papers. She risked glancing around at her surroundings. To her left there was a wall of iron bars, magically reinforced no doubt. At her left snored a pair of unconscious Death Eaters, like black hills, in their shapeless robes. She turned to her right, and though she thought she was prepared, still her heart leapt and hammered wildly. He was so close, his face no more that six inches from her own, the man she had hung on to life for; hoping, against all odds, to one day be reunited with him. His blonde hair was touched with silver now. And that small crease between his brows, the one she had called his 'I want' line, was much more pronounced. But it was him, her Lucius.

Almost against her will she reached for him, and then gasped in shock at the burning pain the movement brought on. She heard the men drop their papers. She fled into the depths of her mind, letting that other one wake. That other was her best defense now. Her last real thought was: 'forgive me Arthur.'

When she awoke she saw two men peering down at her, with hard faces and cold, angry eyes.

Deciding she ought to put her best foot forward she smiled, and sat up to introduce herself. She gasped as she did so however, and wondered why her back should burn so. Almost at once she mastered it, (didn't do to go airing one's dirty laundry in public) and she forced a pleasant smile back on her face.

"Coming around are we," Kingsley asked, but his eyes were on Arthur, who had gone very pale.

"Yes. I've had a most pleasant rest. My back is a little stiff, from sleeping on the floor I imagine. Do I know you," she asked Arthur.

"I don't know Miss. Why don't you tell me your name," Arthur answered. There was a strain in his voice.

"My name? Huh... I just had it a second ago, but I don't seem to remember now."

"Are you being cute with me?"

"No. I don't think so," she smiled.

"Memory charm?" Arthur asked.

"Could be. Who knows. That crowd at the Three Broomsticks was riled up enough. Surprising she wasn't hurt."

"I think I may have been, actually. My back is really quite tender."

"Would you like to see a matron?"

"Not really," she answered truthfully.

Arthur shrugged and the two men returned to their tea and papers.

"No accent," Kingsley whispered casually.

"Nope. She really does look just like Cassy did. A dead ringer. Cassy would be in her forties now though; bless her soul."

"Arthur, I don't mean to pry, but how'd she... you know."

"Die? Voldemort. And Lucius Malfoy."

"Remains?"

"Plenty. All over the place. I really don't..."

"Of course, Arthur. I'm sorry"

As the two men read in silence again the girl, a bit at a loss, looked around wondering where on earth she was, and how she had got there. If only she could remember. The man on the floor moaned loudly just then, and grasped her wrist, rather roughly in his black gloved hand, so that she fell over next to him. She couldn't help but cry out then, the pain in her back was that severe.

"Cassiopea," the man on the floor sighed, his eyes refusing to focus properly.

"I know you, don't I," she whispered, but his head lolled as he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

The two men, alarmed by her cry, jumped up and dashed over to the bars again, wands at ready.

"He grabbed her! Did you see that!"

"That's it," Arthur Weasley fumed, "I'm going for a matron. We can't leave her in there with those thugs. Will you be alright, or should I send Dunnings in?"

"No, I'm alright."

Arthur hurried out. Kingsley remained by the bars watching the girl in bemused interest. They should have an ID on her by now. What was up with that? Then, to Kingsly's immense horror, he saw the girl pull Malfoy close. She stroked his hair, and kissed his brow tenderly, for all the world like a lover. He wanted to rush in, and pull her away, maybe wash her mouth out with soap, but he couldn't enter a cell full of Death Eaters alone. Then her cloak, far too big for her size, slipped from one shoulder, so that he could plainly see the ugly, fresh stripes of a lashing.

"Hey you! Miss," he called.

She sat up with a grimace and turned toward him, forcing on that vague, pleasant smile again.

"May I help you?"

"Come here," he demanded.

With an effort she rose unsteadily, and came over to the bars.

"What happened to your back? Turn around and let me see that." He held his wand tightly; least she should make a grab for it.

"I don't know," She answered in a pleasant, conversational voice, turning her shoulder to him and peering back to look at herself. "I think the floor is just too hard for sleeping on. I don't know what possessed me to try it. I do feel quite rested though."

He gaped at her incredulously. "You've been beaten!"

"Have I? Imagine that. Isn't that peculiar." She smiled at him. "May I go back and sit down now? That man over there appears to be hurt." She gasped. "Do you suppose he has been beaten too?"

"Yes. In a manner of speaking. And it serves him right. But you stay right here. I'm going to have a medimagus look at those stripes."

"Have I stripes?"

"The wounds on your back! Are you being cute with me!"

"No. I don't think so," she shrugged and then winced.

Arthur returned just then, accompanied by a burly looking, middle-aged witch, with steel gray, short-coiffed hair, and iron-rimmed glasses. The pair hurried to the cage bars to help Kingsley, who, by the look on his face seemed to need it.

"What is it," Arthur asked. Then, seeing the red, raw slashes on the girl's shoulder, he whistled.

"Did one of those thugs do this to her," Matron Prudholm demanded. "I don't know what you boys were thinking, locking this girl up with that scum. Why wasn't I called at once? This is most improper!"

The two men flushed, and looking very uncomfortable, mumbled something incoherent, and fidgeted with their suddenly hot and too tight collars.

"Come out here dear," the matron crooned, holding her fist out to Kingsley, who wore the keys. "Let's have a look at it, shall we."

Kingsley fumbled with the key ring, which seemed to be snagged on his pants. Finally, with a small ripping sound, it came free, and he hastened to pass it to the glaring witch.

Gently the older woman guided the younger from the holding cell, supporting her unsteady steps. She looked the girl over a bit, screening her modesty from the men with the bulk of her well muscled back. Then turned angrily back to them and proclaimed, in a loud assertive voice: "this child is no Death Eater."

"I have twenty patrons from the Three Broomsticks who'll swear otherwise Miss. Prudholm," Arthur answered.

"Really. Well they must have been deep in their cups. How many Death Eaters go out bare footed, and wearing only a nighty under their cloaks? And look, there's a monogram on her sleeve. LM. Who but Lucius Malfoy would be vain enough to monogram his Death Eater's get up? It would fit three of her. Someone has framed her. If she is a Death Eater, I am a lady of the evening!"

"The two men exchanged a quick, horrified glance at that, then stepped back a pace, trying to look casual about it.

"I'm... I'm sure if there has been a mistake it'll be cleared up soon enough," Kingsley offered.

"How ridiculous. She should be sent home to her parents. What's your name dear?"

"Oh, I'm... hmm... I seem to have forgotten."

The matron drew back in surprise. "Is she simple," she hissed aside to Arthur, as if the girl wouldn't hear.

"Ah... we think perhaps a memory charm. No one in Hogsmeade confessed to using one, but it seems likely."

The matron snorted, apparently finding this response quite unsatisfactory. "Well, what is her name then?"

"Have we got that report yet Kingsley?"

"No Arthur," Kingsley mumbled.

"We don't know yet Miss."

"Maybe we should wake up Malfoy and ask him," Kingsley offered hopefully, in sudden inspiration. "She's wearing his robe, and she was all cozy with him just before you came back..."

The two of them gaped at him in horror.

"Surely not," the matron sputtered.

"That's disgusting, Kingsley," Arthur added. The two turned back to the girl who was listening with polite interest, but not seeming to gather that she was the topic of discussion.

"Did you say she was apprehended in Hogsmeade? That's a long way from tonight's trouble, don't you think. She was probably meant to be a diversion, poor thing."

The two men left Matron Prudholm alone with her charge, but watched surreptitiously as she conjured a set of antiseptic-looking screens, and made a private exam room of them, which she then ushered the girl into. A female medimage soon arrived, only to be ushered behind the screen as well. There was the sound of cutting, and gasps, some angry mutterings, and then Matron Prudholm emerged, looking rather pale and angry.

"Arthur, we are going to need photographs of this," she said, approaching the men at their table. "She has been beaten terribly," the woman whispered, "and it's not the first time. Her back is a mass of scars, some very pale and silvery as if from years ago, some are pink, some red, and then this fresh mess. I think who ever her parents are, they should be hung. And she's been starved as well." Matron Prudholm might have elaborated. She might have described how the girl's ribs resembled a wash board, or how the knobs of her spine seemed to want to poke out through her skin. But she was thinking more how brave the girl was to still be so calm and pleasant, and found she could not speak around the lump in her throat.

"Perhaps it's not a memory charm," Kingsley offered, "perhaps she's gone around the twist."

Under the withering glare of the matron, Kingsley excused himself and went to find the ministry's forensic photographer.

Kingsley had returned and the medimage, the matron, the girl and the photographer were all jammed in together behind Matron Prudholm's screens, when a young auror, named Ebenrood Millpond, burst in.

"Arthur, Kingsley...," he paused to catch his breath, he had been running. His hair flopped untidily into his pale, bulging eyes, "I just got done with Ollivander. You won't believe these wand reports." Looking jubilant, he took the one off the top and shoved it under Arthur's nose, waving it excitedly.

Arthur took it, glanced at the summary, and gave a low appreciative whistle.

"What," Kingsley asked, edging his chair around to look over Arthur's shoulder, and then he whistled too.

"Over two hundred Cruciatus curses," Arthur read, "nearly as many Imperious curses, and two Avada Kedavra. And that's her wand?" he pointed at the screen.

"Not unless she's Narcissa Malfoy," the young man crowed.

Arthur and Kingsley's eyebrows shot up in unison, and they turned to glare at the screen where the girl was still being held; one doubtfully, the other in angry suspicion.

"Polyjuice potion," Kingsley accused.

"No. That would have worn off hours ago, and besides the ID would have identified Narcissa almost immediately if she were simply disguised. I can't think of any magical means she could be using to disguise herself. The wand must have been stolen from Narcissa."

"Or planted by Narcissa."

"Yes, it's right there." Young Millpond pointed to the middle of the page. "The wand was reported broken at the time it was replaced, seven years ago. What's more all the dirty spells occurred before that date, but since that date all the spells are hermetical... Alchemy," he hushed, apparently electrified by the implications.

"I know what hermetical means, Millpond," Kingsley grouched.

"See," the young auror pointed further down the page, "all these are spells related to the creation of the Philosopher's Stone; though no one's been able to make one since Flammel."

"All the real sources on Alchemy are supposed to be in the library of the Department of Mysteries," Arthur mused aloud. "They say you have to work there for years to get to a clearance level high enough to even look at them."

"And look down here," Kingsley pointed toward the bottom of the page. "The wand has been bound. It can't perform any spells of defense or offense, nor any moving or opening spells."

"How peculiar," Arthur puzzled, "so we have a girl of about twenty, who has been beaten severely and repeatedly. She is carrying Narcissa Malfoy's wand, and wearing Lucius Malfoy's death eater's cloak, but little else. She turns up outside a crowded pub, where she could easily have been killed, and nearly did cause a riot. And when she comes to, she has no memory of who she is, or what's been done to her."

"Sounds like a frame to me," Millpond put in.

"I think that's what Arthur just said. But there's more to it than that. If she wasn't so young I'd guess she's been doing Alchemical research, maybe as a captive, which would account for the beatings and the way the wand is bound."

"Maybe one of her parents... but she is too young."

"Unless, she did discover the Philosopher's Stone..." Millpond added, his voice hushed conspiratorially.

"Yeah right!" Kingsley shook his head in disgust at the young auror's audacity.

"She's not exactly a super genius, Millpond. Not at this point anyway," Arthur said pointedly. "I'd say we have enough to haul Narcissa Malfoy in for questioning though. And while we are at it I think we ought to search the place as well. Let's get a writ and give the place a good going over. Can you take care of the writ, Millpond?"

"Sure Arthur, but there's another report you should take a look at first. This one's his," he jerked a thumb at Lucius Malfoy, still sprawled unconscious on the floor, as he handed a second report to his seniors.

Arthur and Kingsley read in silence a moment then looked at each other in amazed disbelief.

"Clean!"

"For the most part. A few nasty jinxes and curses, but as far as the big three go, zip."

"He must have another wand," Arthur grasped.

"Not from Ollivander's. And this one has been in constant use from his school days right up till last night. I had Ollivander go all the way back, thinking something would show."

"Damn! Well, you get that writ Millpond. I want to get this search done before his wife starts covering their tracks. I'll get the warrant for her arrest. Why don't you start getting a team together, Kingsley. Everyone meet back here."

"Will you be coming, Arthur?"

"Hell yes! I've been waiting for this chance for years. Nothing could keep from it."

"Can I come," Millpond asked.

"Uh... we need you to stay and brief Hazeltau and Osbourn. I'll call them in now," Kingsley stepped out into the corridor.

Millpond, looking very downcast turned to Arthur. "If I get them briefed before you leave?"

"Sure. Don't let Kingsley get you down son."

Millpond lit up and dashed out of the room, yelling his thanks over his shoulder.

Arthur was the first to return. He found Matron Prudholm waiting for him. The photographer and medimage were gone. Abruptly the older woman thrust a large, black and white photograph at him. Arthur recoiled, then shook his head in disgust. It was a picture of the girl's back. Her image was blushing, and making attempts to cover-up. The injuries were every bit as bad as he had guessed earlier. And it angered him that she would be the one feeling ashamed.

"Are you still sending her to Azkaban, Arthur? I'm telling you, she's the victim here." She pointed at the girl, who was dressed now in a prisoner's uniform, busily attacking a huge hero sandwich that the matron had purchased for her.

"She has to go. It's up to the wizengamot to decide otherwise. And until we catch who did this to her she'll be safer there than just about anywhere else."

"I'm afraid a stay in that place will be the end of her, Arthur."

"Look, Meg, can you go with her? Stay there with her I mean. Feed her up. Keep her safe and warm?"

"With permission from a senior ministry official," she smiled.

"Done. I'll be out there in the morning with an interrogation team. Have her ready and maybe we'll get to the bottom of this."


	3. Chapter 3

The raid on Malfoy mansion did not go as well as Arthur Weasley had hoped.

Narcissa Malfoy was not only, not at home, there was, as well, every sign that she had fled in a great hurry, and would not be returning. In the woman's suite the aurors found her wardrobes emptied. Her jewelry casks had been likewise plundered. And in the parlor, behind old Abraxas Malfoy's portrait, the Malfoy's money vault hung open on one hinge, obviously having been blasted opened magically. Inside there wasn't a single sickle or knut remaining. It seemed unlikely there would ever be an opportunity to interrogate Narcissa.

However, an elderly couple lived in the gatekeeper's cottage, down the drive. They were servants the Malfoys had been forced to hire when Lucius had inadvertently released their house elf from its bondage. When interviewed, the two had said that 'Madam' had roused them from their beds, late the night before, to pack numerous suitcases into the trunk of the Malfoy's enchanted Rolls Royce. It had seemed to them she was in a terrible temper over something to do with her husband…

…and 'some woman' the older wizard added knowingly.

Once the Roll's had been packed Narcissa sent the servants away. Not so much giving them leave to go back to bed, but more as though she did not want them to see something. They of course were most curious to know what she was up to, and had spied on her as best they could without betraying themselves.

The house had been still, dark and utterly quiet, for perhaps half an hour. Then the front door had nearly exploded open, and Narcissa had emerged, half dragging, and half driving another woman before her. She had shoved the other woman into the vehicle and disaparated it, with a sound like a canon.

"It only makes that kind of noise when she is in a temper," the old lady added, with a knowing nod.

No, they had not recognized the young woman. They described her though, as a pale, frail looking thing. Very untidy, and apparently simple minded. She had had dark hair, possibly red, that was quite long and tangled. They had no idea where she had come from, or how she had come. But they were quite certain she could not have been in the house all along, as they had 'explored' the house quite thoroughly in the time of their employment. They guessed Narcissa had brought her there by flue.

That at least was something that could be checked, Arthur thought, thanks to Dolores Umbridge, who had convinced Fudge to monitor the flue network.

The house itself was, unfortunately, free of incriminating evidence. The locked attic contained only oddments of unused and broken furniture. The cellars contained more vintage wines than anything. There was one small room they found beneath the dining room table. Here they found plenty of evidence that at least one of the Malfoys practiced the dark arts, but that in itself was not a crime, unless actual harm was done, and unfortunately the search failed to turn up any murder weapons, or dead bodies; unless you counted the ashes of old Abraxas Malfoy on the mantle piece beside his portrait.

There were no spare wands.

The lack of evidence disturbed Arthur Weasley more than he cared to admit. It did not for a moment make him question his own assurance that Lucius was guilty as hell. But he did shrewdly guess Lucius would use that same, lame excuse that had gotten him off last time: that he had been at the ministry under the influence of an imperious curse. With a clean wand, and a clean house, he just might pull it off again. Arthur did not trust that Fudge's pique toward Lucius would hold if it could be argued well enough that Lucius had not fooled him after all

Frustrated, and beginning to feel desperate, Arthur made another sweep of the house, searching for something, anything that might have been overlooked before. His search was rewarded when, in Lucius's study, he found a very secret, very tricky, little box, hidden beneath a potted palm. He had it open in two minutes. Surely this was Lucius's stash!

But it wasn't; not in any incriminating sense anyway. Arthur was dismayed to find it contained only photographs. Then he was enraged to see they were pictures of Cassiopea, and Lucius, himself and Molly.

There was one of Cassy and Lucius dancing together at their class graduation from Hogwarts. There was another one of the four of them at that roving party they had found one night, while walking home from the Ministry's Christmas party. The one with all the experimental potions. They were all looking rather bleary. Cassy's hair had curled up into a tight afro, and Lucius's hair was flaming pink. Beside them he and Molly were hiccupping colored smoke rings, and giggling foolishly. There was another of the four of them dancing at a muggle discothèque they had visited in America. In the next Cassy and Lucius danced cheek-to-cheek on the lawn of Malfoy Manor. That would have been their wedding day. And the last picture was of the couple on their honeymoon. Under an immense silvery moon they danced hand in hand on a sandy beach. You could hear the waves, washing in and out.

How young they had all looked...

Knowing he shouldn't take anything that wasn't evidence, still, Arthur stuffed the pictures deep down in his pocket. He didn't think he could bear to look at them again, but the thought that Lucius had even this much of Cassy, and might someday be free to ogle her image again, was beyond reasonable. Was worse than unbearable. No one, not even Molly, really understood why, and to what depths, Arthur hated Lucius Malfoy. They would have had to have known Cassy as only a brother could. And they would have had to have known just what Lucius had done to her.

Late that afternoon Arthur had the house sealed, and posted a pair of aurors there to arrest Narcissa in the doubtful event of her return, and to sift through the reams of parchments the team had rounded up, in case anything incriminating could still be found.

"Ah well," Kingsley said as they finished up, "the interrogations are tomorrow. Malfoy's sure to spill the beans then, with a little help from our potions expert."

Arthur, bone tired, could only muster a grim smile. He would be there. He wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Later, in his office, finishing his reports, Arthur did look at the pictures again. Quickly he shuffled through them, to the one of the roving party. What he saw puzzled him. He hadn't noticed it earlier, but Narcissa Black had been at that party too. And here she was in the photo, just behind Cassy, cutting off a heavy lock of his sister's hair... There was a look on the other woman's face that could only be described as evil. Arthur was too tired to know what to make of it just then, but the next morning an idea occurred to him that he had never thought of before. Polyjuice Potion. But what use could the woman have made of it?


End file.
